


Madre

by Chaosprincess



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Disjointed narrative, Gen, M/M, Madison Who?, Mother/Son Bonding, Surrogate mother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 16:01:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7394086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaosprincess/pseuds/Chaosprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Major spoilers for Mid-season finale s2. Nick finds Celia in the aftermath and they work to find the ending they deserved, but fate has other plans. The heart wants what the heart wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Madre

When she stirred, she thought the fire must still be burning, but she soon realized it was only the Sun, beating down on her because the shelter of the estate was no more than rubble and ashes around her. Her head spun, and she was so thirsty that she would drink saltwater if it was offered to her, though she knew it would not help. 

She tried to move, but a blinding pain struck her as she shifted her left leg. She twisted to see a boulder looming over her lower half. It's shadow pointed in the wrong direction to provide her shade. She gave up. No was coming for her. There was no one in sight. Her friends, coworkers, and family were burned to ashes or had surely fled into the night. The Dead didn't seem to see her, and would be useless to help regardless. She resigned herself to be trapped forever, or at least until some callous hunter shot her in the head.

She closed her eyes again.

The groans and rasps of the dead woke her. Perhaps they had come at last to make her one of them. She saw them shuffle pass in a small pack, but among them she saw a familiar face, coated in blood with the same blank stare, but seemingly uninjured otherwise. 

"Nicholas," she rasped.

His head lifted ever so slightly, and he blinked in confusion, seeming not to recognize his own name.

"Nicholas."

He glanced around.

"Celia?"

The Dead beside him turned to look at him. Unsure that he was still one of them. Nicholas turned to the woman beside him and growled his reassurance that he was one of them, but Celia watched as he slowed his gait and dropped out of the herd before approaching her. He crouched beside her and reached for her arm, but she pulled it away.

"My leg! My leg!" she whispered urgently.

She could see the blood drain from his face. Neither of them knew how injured she might be beneath the rock. 

"Okay, okay, deep breath. Try not to scream."

He crouched beside her and they both inhaled deeply, for strength and for nerve. No matter how the injury looked, it was going to hurt like hell when they freed her. With a grunt, Nicholas lunged forward full force, and Celia balled her fists and made a feral sound through gritted teeth. It reminded her the night she gave birth to Luis. She bore the pain as quietly as she could, but she could still hear the Dead approaching. 

A scream escaped her as her leg was freed, and she dared not to look at the injury. Suddenly, she was being lifted from beneath her knees and back by strong arms, and carried against Nicholas's chest. The herd shuffled after them, but Nicholas and Celia were not overly concerned.  
***  
Nicolas was a good boy, Celia decided.

In those few moments, trapped in an inferno, with all that she loved falling around her, Celia had her doubts. He had brought this upon her, she'd thought. The devil in those beautiful brown eyes that opened her home to disbelievers. But then he returned to her. He'd rescued her from the brink of destruction. He'd carried her in his arms for miles, found her a nurse, gathered food and medicine from sun up to sun down....and he'd cried. She had never seen a boy shed so many tears. At night, he would bury his head in her lap and whisper more apologies than she could count. 

She had been short with him the first two nights, but by the third she could no longer shut him out of her heart. She cradled his head and stroked his hair. 

"This is not your fault, Nicholas," she'd murmured. "You have a kind and innocent heart. Do not let their actions steal that from you."

He loved and trusted the wrong people, but now those people were gone. He was her responsibility now, this beautiful child of light. 

***

The door flung open at noon and Celia's heart skipped several beats. Then Nick stuck his surprisingly clean face in and looked her dead in the eye.

"Did you get it?" Celia asked, stone-faced.

Nick's face split into a grin as he held up several ripe ancho chiles.

"I got it!"

"I knew you would, clever boy! Come in, come in and shut the door!" Celia beckoned from the bed. "Now we can make pozole!"

"Pozole!" Nick cheered, shutting the door behind him.

She leaned as far as she could towards the table. She was practically swaddled in blankets, and her leg was propped up by books and pillows. With some wriggling she managed to free an arm. 

"Yes, but make the onions smaller," she directed. 

Nicholas had a steady hand. He looked over at her for each step, but when he acted it was swift and decisive. Yet he stopped on a dime at her orders.

"No wait!" Celia cried, and the blade would freeze as if she stopped time itself. He would look over at her with concern, and his eyes told her that he was listening to her closely, in a way that Luis and Thomas had never learned to listen. "Smush them with the side of the blade. Do not chop."

It was well into the night before they finished. Celia could have made it much quicker if she could stand, but Nicholas was just learning. He brought the bowl over with anxious glances. Poor child could barely look at her as he handed over the spoon and couldn't stop fidgeting as he awaited her judgement. She closed her eyes and swallowed a large spoonful.

"...so?" he asked quietly.

She smiled.

"Delicious, Nicholas."

"You think so?" he sighed with relief, a grin daring to stretch across his face.

"Truly. Here, you try," she told him, scooping another spoonful and lifting it to his mouth.

He didn't hesitate to eat from it, and she chuckled as some of the soup dribbled down his chin. With an embarrassed close-mouthed smile, he wiped his face with the back of his hand and nodded. Then swallowed.

"That is good pozole!

"Yes, it is."

"Still not as good as you would make though."

She melted. How could she not? She set the spoon down and reached up to brush his cheek. 

"Go fix another bowl. Don't let it get cold."

"Yes Ma'am."

***

She started teaching him Spanish. They'd be together too long for him not to learn Spanish. She started with simple things, every day things like colors, numbers, chairs, kettles and bed. He learned like an eager child with big bright eyes. One day she taught him words for family members. She remarked that hijo was son and instantly he replied, "and madre is mother."

"Sí , madre es madre."

And they smiled like it was their own little secret. 

***  
She never went very far, even when her leg healed.

Nicholas fretted so much when she first stood that she did not attempt again until he was out wandering. Only when she could stand and walk without faltering did she allow him to see her out of bed again. He needed to see her strong again. And once he saw that she was, she watched the creases of his worry for her fade from his face. She would not be leaving him any time soon.

She went outside from time to time, never worrying about the dead. Now she could see for herself the barbed wire fence Nicholas had fixed up around their cozy little hut, but no dead had gathered outside of it. Within the fence, she planted a garden with seeds he had brought home. This way he would not have to wander so far for them to have good food. The furthest she went from their home was to feed what was left of the chickens, whose noise attracted the dead too often for them to live near the house. 

But because she was well, Nicholas wandered more often and further away. He stayed out later into the night. The first time he was gone until morning, she had stayed awake reading a tattered children's book by candlelight. When he crept in the next morning with apologies, she simply smiled at him and told him that she knew he would come back. From that night onward, she lost no sleep when he vanished for days. Nicholas would always come home, one way or another. Her son would come home.

***  
For many months they lived this way, Celia and her devoted Nicholas.

She was sweeping when the door opened that day. 

"You're late for dinner, Nicholas," she teased.

He had been gone for ten days now. The longest yet, but her faith in him never wavered. As she continued to sweep, she became increasingly aware of his silence. That worried her more than his time away. She turned around to look at her boy and found his smile heavy.

"Nicholas," she said, tossing the broom aside and reaching up to cup his soft cheek. His skin was clean. Cleaner than it had been in a long while. "What's wrong?"

His breath was shaky as he leaned down and hugged her. 

"You can tell me, Hijo," she whispered, though her heart thundered in her chest. This was so unlike him. 

"I don't want to hurt you," her boy replied brokenly. His voice was thick with tears and her heart ached to hear that pain.

"You could never hurt me. You tell me what's wrong. I will not be angry," she soothed, rubbing his back. When he remained silent, she continued, "Nicholas, you are my son as certain as the Sun is golden and the sky is blue. There is nothing you could ever say to me that would change that."

But there was no predicting what he said next, no foreseeing it.

"I think I'm in love..." he murmured against her shoulder.

Celia's brow furrowed, and she nudged him back. He flinched, mistaking the gesture for rejection, but she cupped his tear-stained cheeks with both hands and looked him in the eye. It hurt her to see all that pain on his beautiful face.

"Being in love is a wonderful thing. That is nothing to be ashamed of."

"It's who I'm in love with," he sniffed, eyes searching hers for understanding.

Celia's mind raced. She was baffled at who it could possibly be. Who would Nicholas be unable to bring home to her? Who would it take for her to reject her very own son? A name came to mind and when she looked into his pleading eyes, she saw it written there.

"No!" she hissed. "Not him!"

He broke under the weight of her tone, giving a sob as he nodded. He knew what a betrayal this was to her! After a year of earning her forgiveness for the fire, here he was again destroying her world, burning everything she loved to the ground! Not even for his flesh and blood this time, but for the Devil himself as far as she was concerned! The man who stole not one, but now THREE of her children. The rage inside of her seared her skin. The fire in her eyes must have shown through, because Nicholas dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"YOU STUPID CHILD! HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING?!" she screamed, shoving his head as her vision blurred.

In her mind, she saw blood under the pillow, heard the click of the gate locking behind her back. 

"Celia-"

"You would do this to me again, Nicholas?! YOU WOULD MAKE ME RELIVE THIS AGAIN?!"

"No! NO! I take it back! I'm sorry, Celia! I'm sorry!"

She beat his back with the palm of her hands, still reluctant to harm him even as she tried to escape his grasp. When she moved, he dragged after her, clinging to her skirt. 

"I just won't go! I won't go! I said goodbye already!"

"You'll go back to him!" she screeched, shaking from head to toe.

"NO!"

"They always go back to him!"

"I won't! I'll never see him again, Celia! I swear!"

"GET OUT!" she shouted, grabbing a bowl from the table and hurling it to the floor beside him. "LEAVE!"

He crumpled to the floor, hunched over like a tortoise. She smacked the him between the shoulder blades and he whimpered like a kicked dog before crawling out the door. But he did not leave. 

He went outside where the Dead were approaching their fence, drawn to them by Celia's anguished cries. She could hear Nicholas banging on a trash can lid to lead them away, but he returned that night and camped out within the barbed wire fence. He slept outside for ten nights, one for each night she presumed he had spent with that wicked man. 

On the eleventh night, she opened the door and sighed at her boy curled up against the wall of the house.

"Nicholas... you will catch a cold. Come here."

And he slunk in, not on his knees but hunched over to half his height. His eyes were dark with grief and downcast as any scolded child's would be. She sat on her bed and he laid his head on her lap just as he had before. Neither said a word, but she patted his back gently and let him sleep that way. She made his breakfast the next morning. 

For days they lived in tense silence, but one day she remarked that she would like pork to make a proper pozole and he smiled weakly before vanishing to gather some. He returned with a fresh pork from the nearest settlement and they cooked together. 

They settled back into their comfortable quiet life. She had been wrong about him, again. He had stayed with her as he promised. He remained loyal to her. Some days, her smile was smug. She had triumphed over Victor Strand at last. But then she saw the unshed tears in her son's eyes, the perpetual slump in his shoulders, the weight of his smiles, and she knew that she had won nothing.

***  
"Oh Celia~" Nick sing-songed as he approached their hut.

Celia braced herself for some nonsense as she opened the door, but she could not help but smile as she saw him. Behind Nicholas, wrapped up like a mummy in bed sheets, was Jorge, Brave Jorge, who had apparently fought and died on their land.

"Oh Nicholas, you found my friend!"

Nicholas smiled and nodded, dragging Jorge through the gate so she could get a better look at him. Nicholas had gagged him with socks, a sad but necessary deed. She ran her hand over Jorge's scruffy cheek.

"Jorge worked here nearly as long as I did. He was a kind and loyal man. When his wife turned, I sheltered her from the villagers and vowed to protect all the rest of our Dead.... that is how it began."

"Where shall we place him?"

Celia frowned.

"It is a kind gesture, Nicholas, but we have nowhere... nowhere to shelter him from the elements, no food to keep him well."

"I can build a place for him," Nick offered.

Celia shook her head.

"Let him run free for now."

Disappointment clouded Nick's expression as he led Jorge away.

"Nicholas," Celia called after him.

He turned to look at her over their fence.

"I was glad to see my old friend."

He grinned and nodded.

From then on, every few days, Nicholas would bring other workers who still roamed their lands. Celia would name them for him and tell him their life stories. She would talk to them, and feel the burden of her guilt for letting those dreadful people ruin their home lift. And as for her kind boy who made every day a gift to her in some small way, well, she forgave him all over again.  
***  
He came home with an armful of flowers one day. Mostly weeds, but the hopeful smile on his face compelled Celia not to tell him so.

"They're lovely, Nicholas," she said, giving them a sniff. She turned and rummaged through the cabinets before settling on a large old pitcher to place them in. "Put them in here."

They couldn't afford to waste precious water to keep the plants alive, but for two days they would have a pretty centerpiece for their kitchen tables. 

"What are these for?" she'd asked as she placed them.

"Mother's Day," Nicholas replied with a wide grin.

Celia laughed, because unlike him, she had been keeping track.

"Nicholas... it is November!"

The boy shrugged.

"Every day should be Mother's Day for you."  
***  
She pretended not to know how it happened, but her denial did not keep her from bandaging her arm and wearing long sleeves.

It started with a cough.

She'd been sweeping the hut at the time and considered it a consequence of the dust. Then it happened at dinner, feathery and thick in her throat. Nicholas stared at her with owlish eyes.

"I'm fine, Nicholas," she assured with a gentle smile. 

He returned that smile, sweet boy.

Then she woke up in the middle of the night coughing and he came from the other room to loom over her bed with that same look. His hand was cool against her forehead, and he put a wet cloth on her head before leaving to find medicine. She never voiced how hopeless his endeavor would be.

He returned that afternoon with herbs and countless bottles of pills. She tried things over the next few days, but nothing brought her more than vague relief. Her temperature fluctuated sometimes, but the coughing worsened until it hurt to breath. Finally, it got so bad that as Nick readied to go out again, she wheezed for him to stop because she knew he'd never return in time.

He froze at the door.

"What?"

"Stay."

"Celia, you need medicine. I can go find more-"

"Stay," she wheezed again, beckoning him closer with her frail hand.

He knelt beside her with wide eyes and took her hand.

"Go find Victor," she murmured, choking on sorrow and sickness alike.

"Celia... Celia, no. We can fix it," Nick assured, smiling tearfully and nodding. "You're going to be okay. We can fix it, and I won't go out so much anymore. I'll stay here with you."

"Find Victor," she repeated more firmly.

"No..."

"Nicholas, I don't want you to wander alone," she struggled through another coughing fit. He squeezed her hand, frightened he might lose her then and there. "This is my punishment for denying you love. It was selfish and spiteful of me to keep you from him."

Tears dripped from Nick's cheeks as he shook his head.

"That's not true. That's not true! You gave me love, Celia. You saved me. I love you."

"And it's time to love someone else," she rasped, swallowing as best she could before she went on. "Nicholas, you were never happy without him. I know this. A mother can always tell."

Nick shut his eyes. She could hear the his heart breaking. He couldn't deny the truth.

"My beautiful boy. Miracle child I didn't dream of having after losing my older two... I cannot bear thinking that you will walk this Earth all alone." 

"I won't be alone, remember?" Nick whispered. "You'll be here. Not dead, just different, right?"

Celia laughed, with naturally became yet another coughing fit.

"Yes different... changed. I won't be able to hold you, or kiss your cheek, or tell you how good you've been or how much I love you. You are a sensitive boy, Nicholas. You need these things I can no longer give you. Do this for me. Go find that man you love. You make him love you back the way that you deserve, more than he ever loved my poor Thomas."

Nick nodded slowly and kissed her cheek as her breath became painfully shallow.

"I love you, Celia.... Siempre has sido mi madre."

She smiled faintly. He never quite perfected his Spanish.

**Author's Note:**

> I know that the Nick/Victor scenes are missing. :) Maybe someday I will write a companion story to fill in the blanks, but the focus here was always meant to be Nick and Celia.


End file.
